Owd Fred's Blog

Not so many bulls about farms

My own Experience with Suspected Big cats in UK

My own experience in 1992 in a field of twenty five eighteen month old store cattle standing in the middle of a sixteen acre field one frosty morning. They were just standing in the centre of the field in a tight huddle at first light, and from the distance the steam was rising off them in the still morning air.

Full story here   http://yewsfarm.blogspot.com/

All the Machinery has taken a wobble at the same time

Farmer & Stock Breeder year book and desk diary Christmas 1961

Year End Blog 2011

What we were doing 50 years ago this day 27.11.1961

A Farmers Gardening Blog

Gardening as a Pastime(with tractors always in the picture)

Many potential gardeners who work, and travel some distance to and from work, just physically do not have much time to do what they would like to do in the garden.

Then there is the people who just cannot stand gardening, like a neighbour we had in the village, (the wheelwright), his wife loved her garden, and he was committed to mowing the lawns front and back, and always commented to who ever would listen, that his garden should be tarmac end to end, side to side, then each spring he could just sweep it off and paint it green.

Read more and see the pictures here  http://bit.ly/uErNUn

Cheese and Mustard (1940’s)

Every now and then, in the pantry the last lump of cheese would be going dry and crumbly, but it was still all used, very very rare for good food to be wasted back then.

 I’m not talking about the fiddly bits of cheese you see in the shops and super markets these days all fancy wrapped and stamped with a sell by date. This was a real wedge off a whole round block of Cheshire and Cheddar Cheese, probably fifteen or twenty times the size mentioned above.

Read on  http://yewsfarm.blogspot.com/

Not so many bulls about farms these days

Not so many bulls about farms these days, particularly the dairy herds. Before the advent of Artificial Insemination, you often reared a bull calf out of one of your own best cows, the resultant heifers coming into your herd and completing their first lactation, would be very hit and miss. Also you had three more years of calves on the way before the bull had been proven.

read on hear       http://yewsfarm.blogspot.com/

Carting & cutting Kale 65 years ago with the cowman

That Unsettled Feeling

An unwelcome brush with the Law

The Standard Fordson

This was drawn by the Standard Fordson

I remember as a kid of six or seven how we loved to have a ride on the empty
trailers back to the field to be loaded. On this occasion I had just missed my
chance for a ride and I was on my own, when I though I would run and catch up
and climb onto the back end of the wagon.

When I caught up with the outfit, I thought I could put my foot in the swinging rope and claw myself up the backend of the gormers and onto the trailer. But it did not turn out like that at all, having slipped with my grip I fell backwards to the ground, it was only a few inches off the ground, but fell. Trouble was one foot was still in a loop of rope and it started dragging me across the fields, ---read on.

http://yewsfarm.blogspot.com/2011/10/standard-fordson.html

Grandma had a very strong ‘best’ float

With one wheel on the grass and a steady eye for the road beyond she got through, slowed the cob to a trot she never looked back. If she had looked back as some of her family helpers did, she would have seen a trap still moving along the road slowly, the driver on his back side in the middle of the road, and the axle and wheels of the above mentioned vehicle twisted and half way over the hedge. Read more--

http://yewsfarm.blogspot.com/

The main cash crop, (1940's)

The main cash crop apart from sugar beet, was wheat this was sown usually after a break crop of grass as in the Norfolk four coarse rotation of Roots Barley Seeds Wheat,

 Wheat stooked in the field and left for 2 church bells ( ten to fourteen days) before being carted in to the barn,

read more  http://yewsfarm.blogspot.com/2011/09/corn-harvest-1940s-for-those-on-tuther.html

Our Cows have got a Leader

Well its that time of year again when the calves have got to be weaned, the shed has been prepare , the troughs along the front have got gates above them to stop the jumpers, the water trough has extra rails to stop them going through, enough bedding thrown down to last a month, a ring feeder positioned where it can be replenished from outside. The cows will shout by their field gate for three days,

 Read more    http://yewsfarm.blogspot.com/2011/09/cows-have-got-leader.html

The cow that carries its own fence

Second view of "Need long toe nails"

Dad always said that, "you're only as good as your feet,"But then he was talking bout, horse's cows and bullocks for meat.
Anyone who died in the village were said to have "fell off the perch"

 read more on this link http://yewsfarm.blogspot.com/2011/08/need-long-toe-nails-like-claws-to-grip.html

How do you define a working farmer’s car?

Pulled out all parcels and shopping and stood back, while the old Austin Montego finally cremated itself in the middle of the road.

The old Austin Montego Estate Car, it was a farmers car, or life before we had a Landrover 1970’s / 80’s ( The demise of the Land Rover blog  http://bit.ly/k0C2mG )

How do you define a working farmer’s car, a car that can pull almost anything, a car that you can chuck anything that will fit in it, a car with a drawbar that is good and shiny not the one with the plastic horses head knob cover.

A car that when the dirt gets thick enough it will peel off in the sun, a car that is always at the ready for the umpteen short journeys be it lanes or fields, and almost invariably low in fuel, no time to go into town to fill it up.

A car that when a big bullock walks up the tailboard it lifts the ass end of the car off the ground, and when he walks to the front of said trailer it almost bury the drawbar in to the mud, (good suspension).   

A few years ago we had an Austin Montego car, a five door estate model, bought it second hand never having seen mud or cow muck, it was in mint condition. It did good service for us but as always it would be almost its last home.

The first thing was to have a drawbar fitted so it could pull a caravan and the stock trailer; the caravan was a nice stable steady pull although only just up to the job.

The stock trailer was another kettle of fish, it all depended on how many beasts were loaded into it, on odd occasions it got positively over loaded, heaving up and down on the drawbar when loading and unloading, and then on the road it weaved as the speed built up to 30MPH.

As it happened I bought the standard drawbar fitment for that make of car, the arm reaching under the car just bolted with four bolts to the tinwork under the spare wheel in the boot.

There was a lip that reached up to carry the weight of the drawbar going up behind the plastic bumper again bolted into tinwork.

As you can imagine after a couple of years work with intermittent use to pull the stock trailer these bolts holes cracked in star fashion round the holes and eventually pulled through to tin bodywork. To remedy this we welded an angle iron to the carrying bracket so as to spread the load all across the back end of the car, if it pulled out again it would take the whole of the back end off.

I got to know when things were getting dangerous when you could hear a continuous creaking coming from the spare wheel housing.

After the beefing up with the angle iron, the long arm that reached under the spare wheel with its four small bolts started to creak and these were washered up with large round washers, but still it creaked under load.

The car then started to over heat intermittently as though the rad was blocked, they did not have a fan belt, but a thermostat connected to an electric fan, and it turned out that this thermostat was faulty , not switching the fan on when it called for cooling.

Everything worked normally when travelling along briskly, the wind blowing through the radiator did its job well, but this one bank holiday weekend we went out into the Derbyshire hills and got stuck in a great line of vehicles mostly stationary, on the run up to a road junction.

As we kept moving up so the car got hotter, we had the heater on in the car (on a hot day) to try to help cooling the engine, then to our relief we got past the junction and onto open road again, the snag then was we had a long two or three mile climb, working the engine hard, and although the wind was blowing through the rad it was not enough to cool the already hot engine.

Then on a long down hill where we cracked on with speed and not too much work for the engine when a cloud of steam burst from under the bonnet and we coasted to a halt in the mouth of a quarry, looked underneath to find a pool of oily water, the car had expired in a cloud of steam.

After getting a lift home we collected the car a few days later, towing it home on the end of a chain.

As it happened we did get the engine going again and sold it on to a family as a “second” farm car, another rough lane for it to negotiate and a bigger family of kids.

Some months later we heard the they were travelling home from Christmas shopping, loaded up with kids and parcels, going along a remote lane when the engine burst into flames,

The mother pulled out all the kids and parcels and shopping and stood back, while the old Austin Montego finally cremated itself in the middle of the road.

It had not done a big mileage with us or the folks after us, but it had worked hard, pulling the stock trailer, and after us we found out he was pulling a double deck sheep trailer, so it had earned its keep over those few years. This is why we always say “It’s come to its last home when it comes to us”     

Domino the Spotted Stallion.

It was fourteen years ago that Domino was born to a small black Shetland mare, a mare that was not big enough to go in the standard Shetland show classes  38/42inches , and too big to go in the miniature Shetland showing classes 30/34 inches, in fact she was about 36 inches tall.

Domino, he stands at 33 inches tall, this was taken 7 years ago, in his winter the black spots in his coat  stand up like a shaving brush while the white areas of coat lay fairly flat

Going back five years before this, it had been decided that we would let the little mare go and sold her as a companion horse to a large  hunter horse come race horse.

No more was seen or heard of her until some four years later we had a phone call from a dealer down in the south west; he had got a Shetland mare with its pedigree papers, he had rescued her in very poor condition, he had found that our name and address were on those papers.

Immediately we said we would have the mare back, the problem was she was 250 miles away, and almost a two day job to collect her. After a few months of regular phone calls to the dealer, it was established that he would be attending the National Shetland show and sale at Reading that October.

This being a sale that we had been to on quite a few occasions, it was arranged that he would bring the mare with him to Reading, and we could complete our transaction their. It was good for us, as it was only about 110 miles, and in effect we had less than half the journey that we other wise would have had.

A thin and dull coated little mare duly walked down his tailboard and up into our trailer, after a few hour of rest for the pony we set out and brought her home.

I think, in fact I'm sure she sensed that she knew she had come home again after almost five years away recognised some of her field/stable mates and quickly settled in. She was wormed, as that is the most likely cause of her poor condition, and put on a cattle grazed pasture for the winter, as we do with all the Shetlands. We spread them out to range in winter, they need very little hand fed hay.

The following spring as soon as the grass starts to become green again, the Shetlands have to be tightly restricted on their grazing, Shetlands are well known to put their heads down and never know when to stop eating, ending up with laminitis, from which once afflicted are very prone to get it again and again.

So the little mare was put onto a small paddock next to our orchard only a ‘cock's stride' from the house. Some of the other mares had foaled and moved onto larger house paddock, leaving as we thought three baron mares on tight restricted grazing.

This small paddock by the orchard can be seen from the house widows and a good observation paddock to see who is looking likely to foal, and with three baron mares on there, we astonished to see this little mare we had helped to rescue had a black spotted foal running with her, skipping about, born during the night , as they always seem to be, licked dry and suckled, and now running in and out of the three mare who seemed to be as bewildered as us as to the colour and markings of this the smallest foal we had ever been born on this place.

Domino was registered with the Spotted Pony Society, and the dealer from whom we fetched the mare had a good idea where and when the mare could have got to a stallion and which one, and so he had a named farther for his certificate.

Over the next few years he was entered into spotted pony show classes, drawing a lot of attention as he had a sharp presence and alert ears and very vocal when other horses were about, in other word he was showing off, to tell the truth so were we.

Much to the annoyance of large spotted riding pony owners he often got put up above them, but shows with spotted pony classes were very few and far between, and he did not go out as often as some of our other ponies.

 This is Domino's daughter "Dotty", as you see she is getting a bit over weight and in her winter coat

Now retired, he still is a challenge to the blacksmith who periodically has to trim his tiny hooves, he never likes a hand gripped tight round his fetlock, so the blacksmith tried a trick he had been told by an old blacksmith from years ago. He gets a towel and puts the two ends around his fetlock and twists it tight then holds the towel ends between his knees, this improves his ability to settle the pony, but Domino does like to pose a challenge as he's strong, and on odd occasions I have to grip his nose, twitch like, until he knows who has to win the battle.

This is a little character who will never leave us, he will be here to the end of his days,

He is part of the family of ponies that have all retired, enjoying the care and attention given to them. We our selves are getting older, and are not able or fit enough to run them out properly to show them, although one of the younger of the old mare was taken out last weekend and came home with a rosette, shown and run out by our daughter.

I told you it would be a long story, more than a few lines, and feel that we have been so lucky to own and enjoy such an individual little character.  ---   Domino.      

This was the last Standard Shetland foaled in the orchard behind the house, foal having her first suck  

Our pair of Fell ponies, looks like they had just been rolling

Part of the Fell Pony meeting which is sometimes held here, this was the fancy dress event 
The white pony in the picture is also ours

More of the fancy dress, the village church tower in the background

Some of the ponies grazing in the paddocks behind our buildings (Village Pub on the left)

To Market Drayton Sell (Cattle Market)

Our local cattle market is at Market Drayton, about half an hour's drive west, it's usually store cattle that I sell there, having a suckler herd, I run them on to just short of two years old and sell them to finishers.

I buy no corn (barley or wheat) for them, its all grass and wilted silage in the winter, with the grain prices as they are these days and I no longer grow my own, where's the sense in shelling out good money, when a bit longer natural growth bring good results.

Below is a picture of some of the 18 month old stores, every now and then we call a group of them into the orchard next to the house to graze it off and pick up wind fall apples.

They are a bit of a mixture of breeds all sired by our Hereford bull, below for example, the light coloured one is out of a cow that is Charolais cross Simmental put too the Hereford bull. The other one is out of a Angus cross Simmental cow put too the Hereford.

   During the foot and mouth crisis in the 1990's the only bull we could get to use at that time was an Aberdeen Angus, it caught us in between bulls and the Angus was a very young bull already on the farm. Following that we had a Simmental bull for three years, and following that we have had the Hereford bull

Farming on a peat bog (only part of the farm)

Almost a quarter of our farm is on a peat bog, at one time each of the farms in the village had a proportion of this peat ground, splitting and fragmenting the farms.

In the last forty years as farms became vacant with retirements the estate amalgamated the farms into bigger units and got them into ring fence units. My farm being to the east side of the estate nearly all this peat ground fell into my circle on the map.
When I first started farming, and fresh from farm college, keen to try out new ideas, I had a small area of peat and some river side land as well, both areas prone to flooding once the river bloke its banks.

 The peat grassland was full of buttercups and the soft rush, and when neglected the soft rushes became what we called ‘sniggle bogs' the centre of which rose up and made it impossible top cut with the old finger bar mowers.
So being keen I contacted my local MAFF  (Ministry of Agriculture fisheries and Food) adviser. He was and old man who had had plenty of experience and seen these type of meadows before.

Being peat it was very acidic and no amount of lime would bring the PH levels up to that required by modern seed mixtures he advised. Best way was to improve the indigenous species of grass that was already growing down there.
First job was to rake or harrow the centre out of these ‘sniggle bogs' and if that did not work it was advised that I take some bags of Sulphate of Ammonia fertilizer and a bucket onto the meadows and place a handful of the fertilizer into the middle of each bog of rushes, the aim was to burn the centre out of the bog and the nitrogen fertilizer would benefit and encourage the surrounding grass.

After a couple of years these risen bogs had disappeared and the remaining rushes could be cut twice or three times a year with the finger bar mower. In later years, and as I took over more of the meadows the finger bar mowers had been supper seeded by the drum or disc mowers, and these were capable of cutting directly under and sniggle bogs cutting out the hand work involved in burning the centres out with fertilizer.

Back to the early days, once the meadows were mow-able, I started to leave a good proportion to cut for hay, it was before silage was invented in our area, and we managed to get the baler on to the meadows to bale the crop.
Confidence building and wishing to increase the yield of hay a complete fertilizer was applied and a tremendous response was seen from the old grasses that grew on the meadows, it was difficult to mow with the finger bar mower as there was a certain amount of rotting vegetation at the bottom of the sward so dense that it lacked sunlight. It was okay for the first one or two summers when the weather was with us, then we hit a bad year weather wise

It was mowed as usual and after two days was turned with an old ‘dickey swath turner' this flipped up just over half of the heavy side of the swath, a second turning the next day brought the rest of the swath to the top, it was at this point that  the weather bloke and we had a very heavy down pour. A deluge that went on for most of the night, bringing the brook that run through the meadows to over flow, of coarse at mowing time of years the brook and the river lower down were also weeded up which impeded the flow.

So it was the following day we watched with dismay, the water rose in between the heavy swaths, and later that day the swaths were actually floating and drifting to one side of the meadows. As the water receded so the swaths settled nice and neatly over each other each four foot swath now being four inches apart with overlapping. The whole crop was lost and that part of the meadow ruined for the next two years where the swaths lay and rotted down.

On reflecting back without the fertilizer, and with lighter crop that hay could have been baled a day earlier and the bales carted. That was imprinted on my mind for the rest of my farming days, however on the odd occasion we have had bales stranded and standing in flood water when rucked into piles of eight, only the bottom two were ruined and the other not up to much by the time they were carted. But that is the risk taken on these meadows.

Up to these modern times, the meadows are the same, we take the crop it produces usually towards August being the best time to cut, they are cut with a fifteen foot disc mower conditioner, wilted one day rowed up and baled in the following day or two days depending on the forecast, being big round bales these are loaded and moved without much physical effort on my part, that suit me fine, and stacked at home outside 

Looking close you can see the soft rush comming through the grass which has just freshened up since being cut. These ditches are bottomless, and  as you see the meadow has been mown and the two metres uncut by the water coarse. inside the triangle of posts is a censor, to monitor the water table  

We wus Brung up Proper (1940's)

On hearing the back door open, it was never locked,
Foot steps in the kitchen, bedroom door we chocked,
Then we heard mothers Coo-eee, relieved to hear her call,
Have you missed me duckies, we bloomin have an all.

(Our farm house was out on its own and scary at night)

Looking at kids of today all pampered and molly coddled, with all the mobile phones and Ipods, Nintendo Wii. X -boxes and video games, it seems it's every thing you can think of to keep them inside and isolated from social interaction with other children.

After all I was brung up in a cot painted with lead paint, and medicine was always a liquid in different colourer bottles, no child proof lids. In Purple bottles was poison, and I know there was some sort of colour code as to, whether you swallowed the medicine or rubbed it in, just can't remember.  

But we survived

In the car we never had seat belts, and the tyres wore out down to the inner tubes, and the parking brake was often a half house brick carried with you. No winking indicators, only an illuminated orange finger that lifted out of the door pillar, this often got knocked off when left on when it shouldn't be.
When we were old enough (11) we had an air gun. Must say there was a mishap when one of our gang popped his head up and copped a slug to his forehead, we did try to get it out by holding him down but the lead slug had flattened on his skull, so we had to let him run home and then to hospital and we got into deep trouble.
And when we were reported to the police, our parents were all on the side of the law, and did not stick up for us.

But we survived (and the one who copped the slug, he's  70 now and still got the mark on his forehead).

We got caned at school, in my opinion for nowt, but then we did try to do thing our way at times, and on the way home we fell out of trees, got plenty bumps and bruises, but then you learn to hold tight and not fall.
When we played football, it seemed every one was a centre forward, with a great group of us lads milling round the ball all competing to have a shot at goal, no one passed the ball, it was every mon for himself. If you did not get a kick and were not bold enough to charge in, it was no use canting and moaning to your parents.

 But we all survived

We went tracking, two or three would set out with half an hour lead, laying down arrows along the way of twigs or grass or stones indicating the way they had gone. This would last for hours, arriving back dirty wet and often blooded from the excursions through woods and brambles, remember we all wore short trousers back then. This lasted all day and no one ever came looking for us and I don't think anyone was lost. (or died to my knowledge).

And we all still survived.

Dads farm workshop would be taken over at times when he was not about, the tools came in handy for converting old prams into go carts, where one on the front would sit with his feet on the front axle and a cord to steer with and the other ‘man' would sit with his back to the driver and provide the propulsion, even going down bank it would be important to go faster than your rival, best place was on the public roads, down a bank with a blind bend in our back lane
Until of course the village bobby, who was about on his bike nabbed us, and gave the cheeky ones a sharp clip round the ear with the back of his hand. The police man, our village police man never held back when punishment was to be handed out, again our parents seemed pleased we had been caught, and never seemed to defend us against him.

But we survived

We wus brung up on bacon for breakfast, bacon that was half fat and lean, and slices hand cut from the flitch (half pig) hanging in the pantry. Hand cut thick slices of bread, ( sliced bread had not been invented) floating in almost an inch deep bacon fat, and fried until it smoked, but it never killed us.

Cheese, no slice cheese then, it was cut from a huge wedge in great lumps and eaten with crusty bread, if you had cheese you did not have butter as well, nowadays they call it plough mans lunch.

We learned to swim in the river, and just for fun would plaster black mud all over ourselves, and then dive in, in the deepest corners of the river, narrowly missing what we thought was a whirlpool, to wash clean again. The old railway cottage down where the river and railway almost meet, lived a family. In the summer their well would run dry, and when they wanted a bath they would got to the river with a bar of soap and towel. No one worried about diseases back then in the rivers, it was a matter of being up stream from where the cattle watered and they always stood in the river when the gad flies were about. (Cattle almost invariably lift their tails while standing in the river and it was said gad flies never crossed water)   

And we survived that as well.

You could only get Easter eggs and hot cross buns at Easter time, strawberries only in late June July time, turkey was only at Christmas and goose for new year. There were no pizza shops, no McDonalds, no KFC, or Indian restaurants, but some bright spark did loaded up a fish and chip fry pan outfit into a van, and toured the out laying villages having a regular round visiting our village on one evening a week.

 It was coal fired and after he had served his customer at their front gate, before moving on would put a bit more coal on his fire, I expect he could get a good draw on the fire with the speed, he always had a plume of black smoke from his chimney where ever he went, he did a regular trade for quite a few years.     

Looking Back them Years Ago

Looking back them years ago, when we were little boys,
We bumped our knees and elbows, and father made us toys,
Played around the farmyard, in and out the sheds,
Testing all the puddles, thick mud into the house it treads.

When at first we started school, father trimmed our hair,
Combed and washed with new cap, new shoes without compare
Short trousers and new jacket, a satchel on our back,
We all went there to study, but often got a smack.

Times tables chanted every morning, and the alphabet,
Till we knew them off by heart, of this I‘ve no regret,
Isn't till you leave school, that you realise,
How useful school and education, help to make us wise.

Father showed us all his skills, from very early age,
Studied Farmers Weekly, read almost every page,
The pictures they were mainly, of inter-est to us,
News and reports on prices, what a blooming fuss.

We also had the Beano, a comic for us kids,
Dandy and the Eagle, must have cost dad quid's,
Him he had his farmers weekly, it must be only fare,
Mother had a knitting book, for inspiration n' flare.

It must have taken fifteen years, till we felt grown up,
Left alone at home at night, parents meeting as a group,
In fact it was a whist drive every Friday night,
We supposed to be in bed, but sometimes had a fright.

(Our farm house was out on its own and scary at night)

An owl it hooted in bright moonlight, scared us all to death,
Door that blew in wind, with fright we nearly lost our breath,
Scooted up the stairs so fast, and under the bedclothes dove,
In darkness we were frightened, it was for courage that we strove.

On hearing the back door open, it was never locked,
Foot steps in the kitchen, bedroom door we chocked,
Then we heard mothers Coo-eee, relieved to hear her call,
Have you missed me duckies, we bloomin have an all.

So our sheltered life was over, sometimes fended for our selves,
Mother learned us basic cooking, as long as plenty on the shelves,
One at a time we left home, with basic thing that we were taught,
This knowledge we're to build on, foundations life not bought. 

  Countryman  (Owd Fred)

Vicon Acrobat spider wheel 50 Years ago

We took delivery of a brand new Vicon Acrobat spider wheel hay turner come rowing up tool fifty years ago this month.

It was an amazing machine at the time with no driving parts or gears, just turned by dragging the four wheels along the ground at an angle and it raked grass across just to turn it or to row up ready for baling.

It suited the small tractors of the time like the Ferguson T20 and the International B250 that we had, Took some getting used to working it as any twist if the steering wheel would throw the rear end of the mounted machine in the opposite direction, missing the particular swath that your working on, so accurate and constant attention to ya driving was essential to make a good job.

It made a good job in light crops but rowing up hay made from long tall grass it had a tenancy to roll it into a long rope of hay the length of the field. The pickup balers of the time, we had an International B45 baler, was driven by the B250 tractor, had only the single clutch, which meant the baler started turning as the tractor started moving forwards and stopped whey a wheels stopped. When in first gear and this rope of hay started going in too heavy for the baler to take, it would drag the hay form forward of the tractor stalling the tractor and blocking the baler intake.

This Vicon Acrobat turner survive for almost 50 years on this farm although it had been supper seeded by other mounted twin  rotary tedder come rowing up machines that were power driven, we still turn back to then vicon for work on light crops

Many of these Acrobats could be seen on stock farms used for blocking a gap in a hedge to keep cattle from escaping, ours had that job over some winters when not in use, but eventually the frame started to crack up with all the whipping about that it got working through dips and hollows on the peat meadows.

I still have the machine now, but is looking dangerously close to the scrap ruck.

The Scrap Ruck

I got a pile of scrap iron, and it builds up real fast,
And another round the corner, where I dropped it last,
I save it just in case, nothings ever chucked away,
Piles of it every where, It might come in one day.

Broken bits of tractor, and its off cut bits of steel,
Some is thick and some is thin, and some a bit of wheel,
Angle iron in six foot lengths, some point was a bed,
Other bits chucked into the rucks, some still painted red.

Nettles growing through it, and it makes a nesting site,
For rats and mice and vermin, who are only out at night,
Disturbed they run like mad, get away from you or me,
And where do they head for, their scrap ruck home with glee.

I'm looking for a bit of metal, the size ta mend a gate,
Seen some in the scrap ruck, but I can't locate,
Remember when I chucked it, don't know which pile it's in,
Turn each pile over and see, praps neath that pile of tin.

It's rusting in the winter, when the snow and rain soaks in,
It's rusty and it's flaking, and its no use for welding,
Don't know why I saved it, cus the price of scraps sky high,
Have to have a clear out, home for rats and mice deny.  

Countryman  (Owd Fred)

It was Winston (The Bull)

I was always of the belief that cattle not rushed about or driven will take the line of least resistance, usually uphill.

Have you ever been sitting having breakfast, when a bull looks into the kitchen window, well we did. It was Winston, our seven year old Hereford bull, it was June time and he had been on his own in a field behind the building for almost six months.

Way in the distance he can see other cattle and he was getting a bit restless, particularly after having a couple of months or more of good grass that has built up his body weight, until he is almost fighting fit.

So fit, that he managed to open his field gate and let himself into the stack yard, and gave the round hay bales a bit of a routing up on his way down to the back yard outside the house.

Just having the camera handy I took this picture of him through our kitchen window

just as he ambled across the lawn

He cross the path that leads from the wicket to the house door and into the corner, where he decides where to go next, giving me time to race out with the camera to take a few more pictures

He is reasonably quiet, and decides, this way,

This was my vein attempt to persuade him to head back to his field, I was always of the belief that cattle not rushed about or driven will take the line of least resistance, usually uphill, even a strand of string will persuade them not to go through that way (more often than not).

But no, he decides to have a look through the kitchen window, and part the chairs under the porch where we sit and have a morning coffee break, then he paused for a minuet.

I thought at that point he was going to leave a message, as cattle invariably do, to mark his presence.

Then he moved on again without any prompting towards a narrow opening in the trellis, this he did by threading one horn through first then rolled his head and got the other through without smashing the opening, an opening that was stretched as the bulk of his body slowly went through.

Now fully emerged from the porch, you can see the straw on his shoulders where he had had a play with some bales on his way down.

Now between the bushes and chooses the narrowest pair to get through

This is the general area where Winston visited